


In which Bucky discovers art therapy

by buckybarnes19



Series: Bucky's Big Adventure [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Recovering!Bucky, Therapy, art therapy, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybarnes19/pseuds/buckybarnes19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wanna draw a picture?” Sam asked, gesturing toward the crayons, paints, and paper on the table. Bucky looked at them suspiciously as though they might bite. Sam pulled the box of paints and a sheet of paper toward himself and started to draw. “There’s me. Sort of,” he said, frowning at the image he’d produced, kind of a brown blob with mechanical wings and sunglasses. “Ok I’m not an artist but that’s not important. This scrapbook is just for you so you can put whatever you want in it. What do you think?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Bucky discovers art therapy

Sam opened the door to Steve’s apartment and announced himself loudly. One surprise attack was enough to make sure he always announced himself loudly and clearly. Sometimes Bucky liked to jump him anyway, just to be an annoying little shit. He did his best not to react to it but sometimes he couldn’t help it. Sam readjusted the weight of the backpack on his shoulder and went into the living room. Sure enough, Bucky was lounging on the floor in a pool of late afternoon sunlight while the TV was set to the cartoon channel.

“Where’s Steve?” Sam asked. He didn’t get an answer when he texted earlier.

“I dunno,” Bucky said without taking his eyes off the screen.

Sam took a moment to watch Bugs Bunny blow up the Coyote and then set his knapsack on the couch and sat down. “How you doing today, James?”

The other grunted. He was usually completely unresponsive during his shows so any answer meant today was a good day. Sam opened the backpack and started pulling supplies out while Bucky turned his head to watch with an expressionless face. It didn’t look like he’d slept in days and he probably hadn’t. Bucky’s nightmares were terrible. He often woke up screaming.

“Is Steve on a mission? Out to get groceries? Dead in the other room? C’mon, he always tells you where he goes.” As Sam spoke he put the items on the table and Bucky narrowed his eyes, obviously interested. Sam pretended not to notice. Too much attention and Bucky would shut a person out.

“What is that?” Bucky asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

“Construction paper, glue, scissors, stickers...” He pointed at each one as he spoke. “And – voila.” He pulled the book out last and set it with a grand flourish on the table. Bucky crept over and picked it up, intrigued by the cover. Puppies and kittens. His favourite. He ran his metal fingers over the cover and then switched so he could touch it with his flesh ones, almost as if he were trying to feel the animals through the photograph. After a moment he opened it and looked at the blank pages inside, and then frowned at Sam.

“Photo album? For Steve?”

“Scrapbook. For you. I thought it would be something you might be interested in. Y’know, document your successes and your progress. Or you can put whatever you want in it.” He watched Bucky to gauge his reaction to the idea. The other looked at him blankly and Sam wondered if Bucky understood what he was saying. 

“Wanna draw a picture?” Sam asked, gesturing toward the crayons, paints, and paper on the table. Bucky looked at them suspiciously as though they might bite. Sam pulled the box of paints and a sheet of paper toward himself and started to draw. “There’s me. Sort of,” he said, frowning at the image he’d produced, kind of a brown blob with mechanical wings and sunglasses. “Ok I’m not an artist but that’s not important. This scrapbook is just for you so you can put whatever you want in it. What do you think?”

“My sisters used to keep diaries.” He cocked his head, frowning slightly, considering. Sam allowed him time to think and picked up a crayon, attempting a sun. After a minute or two Bucky took a sheet of paper and a red crayon and started scribbling. Then he put the crayon down and placed a possessive hand over the scrapbook.

“Just for me?” he said, watching Sam carefully.

Sam nodded, grateful for the chance to look away from the horrible mess he was making. He could already see Steve’s grimace.

Bucky pulled the scrapbook off the table and cradled it in his left arm while he continued scribbling with the other, gently humming some little ditty under his breath. 

Steve came home later that night (it turned out he was running a few errands and was not mouldering away on the floor in another room) and when he came in to the living room it was to find Sam laying exhausted along the length of the couch, his feet propped up on the arm. Paint was smeared on his clothes and face, on the floor and furniture. It looked like the room lost a war against a new art movement. Bucky was happily drawing mostly formless people, and pages upon pages of drawings were taped, pinned, and even glued to the walls. Steve stopped, staring, while Sam took his eyes briefly from the TV screen to nod a greeting. 

“What happened here?” Steve asked, setting his plastic bags on the floor and staring at all the pictures along the walls. 

“Art therapy,” Sam said tiredly.

“Look, Steve, I drew you as a dog,” Bucky said, proudly holding up a piece of paper with a happily grinning yellow Labrador wearing a shapeless Captain America uniform. Steve took it and smiled. 

“Shall we put it on the ‘fridge?” he asked.

Bucky beamed.


End file.
